Love is Blind
by SecretKeeper2
Summary: Ch5 :EDITED: Even after the Ysandir had vanished, her clothing had still been missing. Jon had given her his tunic, but as inadequate and unwomanly as she was, there were some things that couldn't remain hidden... alternate ItHotG
1. PROLOGUE

_My God. I feel so old. My time is so long gone. I'm still reliving the old fandom days..._

_Well. This is the story. Insanity happened, I decided to revamp this, and I'll see how long I can stick it out. :) _

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_In the first book SOTL, after Alanna and Jon valiantly battle the Ysandir, Tammy never mentioned HOW Alanna gets back her clothes. In fact, she never mentions THAT Alanna gets back her clothes!_

_Thus, this is what the story is about... _

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**_The Ysandir have fallen... however, Alanna has bigger problems to worry about. Her secret has been uncovered..._**

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**The Alternate Story**

_to 'In the Hand of the Goddess'_

**Chapter One**

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Alanna closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. She understood one thing implicitly. The charade was over. She was to be sent home.

Even after the Ysandir had vanished, her clothing had still been missing. Jon had given her his tunic, but as inadequate and unwomanlyas she was, there were some things that couldn't remain hidden.

The ride back to the city was inevitable, and from there, the fateful sequence of events followed.

In vain, Alanna had attempted to return to her rooms during the revelries celebrating the Ysandir's downfall. However, her luck had run out. She ran into Duke Gareth. From there, came the hasty ride back to Corus. The shame. The disgrace.

And the sterile, white room.

Now.

She lay on the floor, and stared up at the white, white ceiling.

What was she to do? What could she do?

The answer? Nothing.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the throne room, the debate was just beginning. The King resided on the dais, his Queen on his left, his son on the right. Jonathan, who had been white-faced to begin with, was starting to redden with anger. 

"There is no argument," Duke Roger said impatiently. "She is a GIRL. She cannot remain as a squire. It is utterly ridiculous."

Duke Gareth sighed. "Shouldn't we give her this chance? Her presence has always been... highly unusual. She is a dedicate student. She has the aptitude to become a great warrior."

"But she is female!" A conservative, Sir Kalavan said. "She will do more harm than good."

"It is a disgrace," rumbled another. "A girl doing what men do. Think of how this will appear to Tuisane... or Carthak. They will think we haverun out of able fighters."

"It is a political embarassment!" Duke Roger said, conclusively.

The King had been silent throughout, eying his equally silent son. Now, he stirred. "The decision is clear," he said. "Alanna will be dismissed."

The room rumbled with agreement.

"Father, may I speak?" It was Jonathan.

The King nodded.

The room silenced. All eyes turned to the young Prince, whowas still a squire and not yet a knight. His father had only let the boy sit in the negotiations to observe the workings of the court. No one had expected Jonathan to speak up in any way.

Jonathan's voice was shaky at first. "Alan-na has proved her worthiness time and time again. Male or not, she is more capable than many others. Boy or girl, girl or boy... even if she's a dancing bear..." His voice was gaining confidence. "Has she notgiven us enough credit? She saved me from the Sweating Sickness. I would have died in the Black City if I had gone with anyone else. Isn't that alone enough to say that she - even if she isn't a boy - is worthy to be a squire?"

"Cousin," Duke Roger said. "Think of this in a larger scale. It is a controversy. Not everyone is as... open minded...as you are. Reconsider, Cousin. Think of the consequences. What if this _girl_ fails? She will ultimately have her flaws -"

"As we all do," Jonathan interrupted tersely.

"-But in the end, it will be seen as unfair," Roger finished. "Special considerations will have to be made for her. Bathing arrangements, camping arrangements." Suddenly, an idea came to him. "Mithros! What has she seen in these past years?"

Jonathan almost purpled as the room beganstir."Alanna's always taken measures," he said hastily, over-loudly. "She knows where she stands," he said to the Duke. Then, he addressed the rest of the room. "Before we headed to Persopolis, Gareth, Raoul and I were discussing selecting our squires. Naturally, we all wanted the best, and it became clear that the best was Alan - Alanna. She is excellent at archery, jousting, swordplay, and if she finds a weakness, she always attempts to overcome it. She is a good student. Her teachers will vouch for that..." He looked at the cluster of Mithran priests, who made grudging noises of agreement. "As a page, she has been as good, if not better than most. Feminity regardless, she is a good warrior. The mere fault of her gender - whichis not hers to blame- should not condemn her from achieving her dream."

"Your highness," blustered a nobleman. "You've entirely missed the point! This is not about..."

"It would be the same as declaring that noble families from the Book of Silver is not as good as the Book of Gold, because of the youth of their titles," Jonathan cut in angrily.

Nearly half the nobles in the room shouted in outrage. Many of them were in the Book of Silver, or even lower anthologies.

"Jonathan," the King warned.

"Father," Jonathan said, his eyes pleading. "Think of all that she hasdone! It would be unfairness to deny her this chance."

It was a long decision, but finally, the King relented. "Very well," he said wearily. "The lady shall stay on - but," he said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the shouts of protest, "If she does anything to withdraw Our approval in this matter, she shall be abruptly exiled."

"But Father..."

"That is final," the King said.

* * *

How long had she been in this cell, and why were the walls so white? 

Alanna scowled, flopping onto the hard, white mattress. She longed to hit something, punch something. She yearned to just get out. There was a limit on how much how much white her eyes could take. She swore her eyes were going blind.

Then suddenly, the silence broke. Outside the room, she heard a voice. It was blurry and incomprehensible through the walls.

She held her breath and hoped.

The white door opened. A black head poked in. It was Jon.

Alanna stood shakily. "Jo... Your Highness," she whispered, wobbling slightly. "What have they decided?"

He had a funny look on his face. "What do you think?"

She swallowed and looked down to her feet. "Well," she began slowly, sucking back tears of disappointment. "I am not really surprised. After all, it was to be expected, and I was a fool to think that-" She paused, and glared at him suspiciously. "Why are you smiling?" she snapped.

"You're staying, you idiot!" he crowed.

She froze. Emotions swamped her. Happiness, shock, amazement, surprise... "You have to be joking."

"I am not," he assured her. "You will stay. You have to stay. I need you as my squire."

"Oh Mithros." Between laughing and crying, Alanna couldn't really choose. In the end, she couldn't stop herself. She cried, and Jon held her.

"You're wetting my tunic," he said softly.

"I'm sorry," Alanna sniffed. "It is just too overwhelming. I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," Jon said wryly.

Pushing herself away from him, she knuckled away her tears and gave him a hard look. "But now I'm a girl, confirmed and all, you better not start treating me like one," she said grimly. "And you better tell the others that as well."

The scowl on her face was very fierce, but instead of getting the reaction she had hoped, he ended up laughing. "Of course we won't," he said. Putting a companionable arm around her shoulder, they marched out of the room.

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_My muse thrives on feedback. So quick! Ignore the fact there's another chapter, and press that loffly purple button that says 'GO'._

_Oh, and then read the other chapter. More prompts there..._


	2. ALAN: THE GIRL

_Disclaimer: SotL? Mine? I wish! This belongs to the lovely Tamora Pierce (who is still lovely, regardless of her latest releases)_

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**Love is Blind**

_Chapter 1_

_ALAN: THE GIRL_

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It was like being reborn.

After the time in the white room, everything suddenly appeared bright, shiny and new. Knowing this appreciation wouldn't last, Alanna prolonged it all she could and spent as much of hertime as she couldoutdoors, hidden from prying eyes. .

Meanwhile, the news of her true identity spread around the palace like wildfire. By the next day, everyone knew. Stares followed her like a plague. Whispers flooded through every single corridor.

But inevitably, some time had to be spent indoors, too. Alanna found herself in her room, one afternoon not long after, in her bed, on her back, staring at the ceiling contemplatively.

Now that her secret was out, and she was allowed to continue, Alanna had several interesting things to consider.

For one thing, binding her breasts HURT. The corset was no better. Although she had a very large size, the thing was still remarkably like a strangling device.

But if she didn't wear the corset, would people treat her differently? People would treat her differently anyway, but she didn't want to stick out too much. Swimming was still not an option.

"What are you thinking about?" a voice asked.

Alanna jumped, surprised at his presence. Then, she realised she left her door open. "Jon," she said thoughtfully, "how do you think the others will react when now that they know I'm a girl?"

Jon shrugged. "You were always particular about unbuttoning your shirt. I think everyone will piece it up easy enough. Gary, Raoul, Alex and I will always be there to support you. Not to mention Myles."

She wasn't sure about Alex, but she knew that her other friends and her favourite teacher would probably help her. Alex hadn't been the same since he had been Duke Roger's squire. Sometimes, Alanna didn't feel right whenever he was around.

"I guess," Alanna said slowly.

"You know, I'm still in a bit of a shock, finding out that you're a girl. It amazes me how you could have managed it," Jon commented.

"It wasn't easy," Alanna said wryly, plucking out a feather that stuck out of her pillow. "But I'm worried," she confessed. "Things will change, now that everyone knows. I don't like change."

He sat beside her. "Everything will work out," he promised. "They will forgive you, given time."

Alanna looked at him. "But how long will that take?" she murmured, burrowing her head in her pillow. "A week? A month? A year? Until the next brilliant thing I do?"

Jon had no answer

Alanna did her best to ignore everything, and focus on her studies. She knew (not happily) that her friends would stick up for her. During the first few weeks, there was an unnatural prevalence of bloodied noses and blackened eyes.

At dinnertime, some conservatives would refuse to be served by Alanna, demanding another page to wait on them. Other simply sat and blatantly insulted her.

Alanna took all this quietly. She did not say a single word. There was no point in doing so. She had to show everyone that she would be capable of being a knight. That meant obeying the Code of Chivalry and having a proper knight's etiquette.

But what hurt the most was being isolation by her peers. Some of her friends among the pages and squires distanced themselves from her. If she sat near them during mealtimes, the conversations would become strained.

Her instructors too, changed. They called on her frequently, as if making a point. She received more work, and harsher punishments for incomplete work. Her etiquette teacher had scowled when she had one single mistake in her bow, chiding her about 'taking advantage of being a female'. He assigned her to three chapters of reading out of the etiquette book, plus an essay and a report the next day.

Alanna bit her tongue, but thought furiously about how unfair it was. The Priests never set that much homework to the others!

Myles, however, called for her to stay back after class.

Alanna approached him nervously, wiping her sweaty palms on her tunic. "Yes, sir?"

Myles looked at her kindly, "Look, Alan - Alanna. I know that you must be treated quite differently now that everyone knows that you're a girl," he began.

She nodded timidly. "How do you feel about it, sir?" she asked directly.

"I knew," Myles said simply.

Her jaw dropped. "But..."

"I suspected," he corrected. "After the Sweating Sickness - and the time you went to Barony Olau."

Alanna closed her mouth, and when no intuition came, she simply shrugged. What he was saying wasn't making any direct sense, but she had a vague impression on what he was trying to say.

"Now, run along to class, you don't want to be late now, Alanna," Myles said with a sigh.

She managed a smile (albeit a slightly confused one). "Thank you, sir."

Alanna continued to wear her corset. When Jon asked her about it, she shook her head. "Why be different?" she had said with a shrug, averting her eyes.

Jon just shook his head.

A few weeks later, a message came to the Palace, and Alanna was summoned out of class.

She knocked on Duke Gareth's door nervously, wondering what he had to say.

"Come in."

Alanna entered the room, the find a grim looking Duke Gareth and an equally grim looking Coram.

Fearing the worst, Alanna bowed shakily to the Duke. "Y-your G-grace," she stammered.

The Duke motioned Coram to speak, which he did, in low, deadened tones. "Lass, your father is dead."

Alanna straightened. Mouth dry. "Father is - dead?"

She had never had a great love for her father, but at the same time, he was the only relative she had apart from Thom. It didn't hurt. But then, it did. There was a strange hollowness inside her.

"Alanna, you must go to Trebond immediately to attend your father's funeral," Duke Gareth said stiffly. The Duke hadn't liked Lord Alan much either.

"Yes, your Grace," Alanna bowed again, before she exited the room to go pack.

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_Much thanks to those who reviewed this chapter, oh-so-long ago. Star (my first reviewer!) HuntressDiana, Princess Amara of Conte, Forget-me-not, Cobweb, Reaya, White-wolf, Numie, Queenofdiamonds, Tomato Beatles Fan, dragon defender and pink kai. _

_I originally had long, nifty responses for each of you (though you may not remember). Thank you so much for your contributions. :) It was helpful, and inspiring. _


	3. LETTER

_DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Tamora Pierce. Je suis non (her) and I'm not French, either._

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LOVE IS BLIND

Chapter Two

**The End of the Beginning**

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Alanna trudged to her room slowly. Each step felt like miles. Her mind was buzzing, yet blank.

Her father was dead. How could it be? She closed her eyes, and willed herself to think. She tried to remember what her father looked like, but got nothing more than a bland, fuzzy sketch.

She wished she could cry. It would be a reaction. But she remained in her cold, numb, ethereal state.

It was painfully… excruciatingly… frustratingly…

She suddenly found herself in the practice courts, with a sword in her hand. Then, almost as if a time-jump had happened, she was swinging the sword. The next thing she knew, sweat was trickling down her face and back.

Her father was dead. Her father: her father by blood.

How could it have happened? How could it be?

Suddenly, she was in her room, and staring up at the blank ceiling. Her eyes were dry, and staring at Jon.

"You're an idiot," he whispered.

He was holding her hand. Her hand was bandaged, with cloth that had almost been soaked through with blood.

"My father's dead," she said to him, blindly.

"I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

She swallowed and closed her eyes. "So am I," she said, her voice low.

* * *

Trebond was a sturdy, stone fortress, built for defence, not to please aesthetically. Alanna found that she still knew her way around the twisting, cold corridors. Somehow, this knowledge relieved her.

The funeral was to occur in a week's time, but already, everyone was dressed in black, the colour of mourning.

She had barely been in Trebond for a day, but she was already wishing she was back in Corus.

Lord Alan had several other well-wishers: serious, studious, bookish men who all looked stiff and haughty - just like her father. However, there were attendees to the occasion that honestly couldn't have cared less about the man who lay in the casket.

Alanna was sickened at the thought of having to spend a week with them.

At dinner on the first night, Alanna found herself face-to-face with the biggest phoney of all: her Godmother, the illustrious, much-hated Lady Catherine. She was dressed elegantly in black, looking pale and austere. It was purely cosmetic.

"Oh Alanna, darling," she gushed. "It is a terrible pity about your father…" She was looking cautiously around her, as if she was afraid of something she couldn't quite see.

Despite the circumstances, Alanna stifled a laugh. Evidently, Lady Catherine had not forgotten the time when she and Thom had magically created illusions of ghosts so that Lady Catherine would not marry their father.

"Thank-you for your sympathy, Lady Catherine," she said, as-per-required.

At dinner, her suspicions about Lady Catherine's real state was confirmed. By some malicious twist of fate, they ended up side-by-side on the table. Lady Catherine had some atrocious perfume on. Even before the first course was served, Alanna was feeling sick.

"Alanna dearest, are you all right?" Lady Catherine asked, feigning concern.

Alanna coughed. "I'm fine," she choked.

"How is your mental state?" Lady Catherine asked. "You must be feeling dreadful, darling…"

Biting back a vicious retort, Alanna kept silent, shifting awkwardly about in her heavy, netted up, lacy skirts. Mithros, how could other girls her age put up with this all the time? Feeling Lady Catherine eye her with disapproval, Alanna bit her lip, smoothing out her skirts with shaking hands.

"Well, Alanna, I've been hearing the strangest rumours about you!" Lady Catherine exclaimed. "You are my God-daughter, dearest. And for that, I am greatly grieved. You never write me a single letter! How are you faring in the convent?"

Alanna remained silent, refusing to dignify a response.

Undeterred, the Lady pressed on. "I've been hearing the oddest things! They say you went to the palace to become a knight!" She laughed delicately. "I didn't believe a single word of it! After all, you're a sensible young girl, and my Goddaughter. You would never do anything shameful and silly like that, would you?"

Alanna shrugged.

Lady Catherine exhaled, gazing at her in horror. "Oh, Alanna! How could you? You know better than that! How will you ever get married?"

"I'm not," Alanna said simply, spooning up her stew.

Eying her as if she had sprouted green hair, Lady Catherine gave a slight cough. "You are so witty!" she exclaimed, her voice rising by several octaves. "You have such humour and wit, my dear Alanna! That is one of the most amusing things I have ever heard!" She mimicked Alanna, in an even higher, falsetto voice. "'_I'm not going to marry_!'"

Alanna tensed. She took a breath. "It would be a wonderful joke, indeed, if I intended it to be, but I am not joking. I don't intend on marriage. Ever."

Lady Catherine spat out her spoon full of stew. It went all over Alanna's dress - not to mention in Alanna's soup. Alanna wrinkled her nose slightly as Lady Catherine proceeded to hack and gack as if she had choked on something.

Instantly, offers of manly assistance came flooding through. However, Lady Catherine soon recovered, and declined them delicately. "I'm all right," she said wiping her mouth deftly and offering a wane smile. "Truly I am. Thank you for your concern, kind sirs." Her voice was sickeningly syrupy.

When the men were back at their own side of the table, the Lady turned on Alanna at once, slipping out of her motherly charade. "You are not planning to marry? Are you ludicrous?"

"I'm not," Alanna said shortly. "And I'm not insane, either."

Lady Catherine merely sniffed, raising a delicate brow. "If you say so, Alanna," she said, her tone speaking volumes.

Much to Alanna's relief, Lady Catherine refused to speak to her again throughout the entire dinner.

After the meal, Alanna went into the Trebond morgue. A servant accompanied her, twittering about the circumstances about her father's death.

"It was a heart attack, milady," the servant said nervously. "It came on suddenly, just when he was having lunch. There was no physician nearby… he died almost instantly… it would not have been too painful…"

Alanna nodded curtly, striding into the dimness of the morgue. She was instantly overwhelmed by the stench of death. It was everywhere, lingering on the sterile walls, tables…

The servant, terrified by the expression on her face, backed away.

The body lay on a stone slab. Alanna took one look, and felt bile rise to her throat.

The face was garishly made-up, almost as if a mask had been placed on his face. The face was smiling. Its lips were red. Its cheeks were red.

Alanna realised her cheeks were damp with tears.

She tucked her hands into her pockets, unable to stop herself from shivering. "Father?" she whispered. Her voice echoed through the cold, dark room. "I… don't know what to say… I… this… I…" She shook her head wordlessly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry… I'm sorry."

She had nothing to say. She could say nothing. She backed out of the room, and fled.

Thom arrived the following day. Alanna had not seen him in years. He was greatly changed. An aura of dislikeable confidence hung around him, like a cloak. He held himself, with the assurance of a man who believed utterly and completely of his own supremacy.

But, he was her brother first. She greeted him warmly.

"Alanna!" He hugged her. "How are you, Lady Squire?"

Alanna made a face. "Gossip sure travels fast," she said dryly.

When she pulled away, something in her brother's face made her heart ache painfully. She could see her father in Thom now. There was an air of haughty confidence, self-assurance and smugness in Thom that had not existed before. She grieved the death of the Thom she had known. She grieved of her ignorance, borne from time too quickly past.

Thom did not visit the morgue. Instead, he went straight to the Library. It was something that her father would have done, Alanna realised with a pang.

Lord Alan had died in his own office. Alanna thought it was fitting to clear the scene of his death. According to the servant, nothing had been touched, and this proved to be true. The office was cluttered, in an orderly way, suggesting that only its owner had known navigational skills required to comprehend.

For a moment, Alanna stood back surveyed the room. Books littered the table. There were pages dog-eared. Scrolls with vivid headings were scattered all around the room with headings such as "DURNA'S THEORY" or "SCANRAN WARS".

Taking light steps around the room, Alanna saw little notes that were pasted on the ledges, reminding the reader of things such as 'lunch is at 12' or 'Dantia Draconic scrolls in left shelf, 5th row down'. It was when she shifted a scroll, reading 'ARTIFACTS OF OLDE UNA' that she saw the flash of familiar, creamy parchment that was the royal stationary.

It was a letter, from the Palace. The red seal was broken.

With a feeling of growing dread, Alanna picked up the letter, and opened it. The sides were slightly scrunched, as if it had been crumpled, or held in clenched (angered?) hands.

It was from Duke Gareth.

She scanned through it. Her breathing growing shallower, as she understood the contents.

Dated the week she and Jon had defeated the Ysandir, it was concerning the uncovery of Alanna's true identity.

* * *

_A/N: _

_Thanks to those lovely reviewers from long ago: pastlemouth, HuntressDiana, Chopstix, queenofdiamonds, Lady Arianna, Forget-me-not, TamoraFan, Reaya, Les Yeux Violets, White-wolf, arcander._


	4. THE GODDESS

_DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Tamora Pierce. This time, even the concept doesn't belong to me. This chapter is a rehash of the the respective chapter in the book, basically (with very little variation and different words). It wasn't intentional._

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**Love is Blind**

Chapter 3

The Goddess

* * *

A month and a half later, Alanna found herself revisiting that exact moment, when she realised she had caused her father's death.

It was not murder. All the same, she felt a pervasive sense of guilt. No matter whether it was intentional or not, it had been her fault. The knowledge was a burden that would not, could not, be relieved any time soon.

Alanna had been running an errand for Sir Myles. She was on the last leg, a half day's ride away from the city, but as the sky darkened, she knew there was no way she would be able to travel in the storm. Instead, she raced to find a niche—any niche—that she could temporarily shelter in.

Rain began to fall, in big, fat droplets. Alanna shivered and swore under her breath, shifting to make sure that Sir Myles' scroll was safely tucked away, in the secure place between her tunic and shirt, in its waterproof wrapping. It would be a disaster to return, having botched her mission by ruining a three hundred year old scroll because she couldn't look after it properly, and it had gotten wet!

Ideally, there would be a conveniently isolated hut, located in a strategic position. However, Alanna knew better than to expect this, so when she came across an old willow tree, thick with branches, she knew better than to pass it by. She dismounted. There was enough room to shelter both Alanna and Moonlight.

The sky was darkening quickly. She could almost smell the rain. Quickly, she unsaddled and tethered Moonlight, and went in search for firewood. Within moments, she had a competent little stack. After much swearing and cursing, there was a satisfactory, cosy fire burning.

As she nibbled on her dry rations, she smiled wryly as she thought back of her lessons with Coram, where he taught her how to survive in the wilderness. Back then; she had had aspirations to be a maiden warrior. Now, her dream was about to come true.

But it was funny how dreams never included the hardships. She had pictured herself fighting, but she could never have imagined the struggles, the blood and the horror. Dreams didn't cover the ache in your muscles, and the blood on your hands. Dreams didn't cover the very real possibility of death, just lurking a single sword-stroke away.

Suddenly, she sneezed. Her nose was itching. She looked up, alarmed. Whenever her nose itched, something supernatural was about to happen. She knew this from experience. The feeling in the clearing had changed. Shifting into a fighting stance, Alanna unsheathed Lightening.

She tensed as she heard a soft, muffled sound… she could have sworn it was a mew.

When a small black kitten trotted out from the darkness, Alanna put down her sword and laughed, shaking her head.

She slid back into a seated position on the ground. It came over to her, its tiny tail waving. It butted her knee, commanding her to pick it up. She obeyed, and stroked its head, marvelling at the cleanliness of its fur.

"It is a terrible night to be out," she told it, as she rummaged around for a spare blanket. "What is a nice little thing like you doing outdoors?" She lifted it up, to check its gender. It, as it turned out, as a he.

She placed him down, and then caught sight of his eyes. She gasped. "Great Merciful Mother!"

The kitten's eyes were bright amethyst, just like her own.

For a moment, thoughts roiled in her head, each more worrying than the last. But when the kitten butted at her knee again, and looked up at her plaintively, she laughed and shook her head. "I have purple eyes as well. See? I am no more supernatural than you are!"

With this said and done, she thoroughly checked over her new pet (just in case) and prepared to sleep. However, just as she was about to doze off, five sneezes hit her, again.

This time, when her eyes opened, a hooded stranger was standing right in front of her. She jumped up in alarm, her hand going instinctively for her sword. However, even as her hand brushed the hilt, she realised her folly. Just because the person had appeared out of nowhere gave her no right to attack her – or him.

"D'you need help?" she stuttered.

The stranger's voice was low, husky, and feminine. "I saw your fire through the trees," she said. "It is a cold night. I thought – hoped that I could borrow some warmth."

At Alanna's numb nod, the stranger threw back her hood, to reveal the tallest, and perhaps the most beautiful person Alanna had ever met. Her skin was the palest ivory, and her eyes were wide, thickly lashed, and piercingly emerald. Her hair fell in waves of ebony. Alanna swallowed. Her face was just a little bit too perfect to be real. She felt almost intimidated as the stranger settled down beside the fire with boneless grace.

Alanna sat as well, huddling beside the fire with her new pet on her lap. She was wordless. Her mind was reeling with confusion.

"It is rare for one so young to venture out alone in a place like this," the stranger said, after a moment. A small, enigmatic smile hovered on her lips. "There are tales of these parts, and of those who journey through them."

The kitten protested as Alanna's ministrations became a little too hard. Hastily, Alanna loosened her grasp. "I had no choice," she said, somewhat curtly. "Home is hours away. It would not have been fair on my horse, to press it through this storm."

The woman nodded. "You have come far, Alanna of Trebond," she said.

Alanna looked up, surprised at the recognition. She cursed each and every gossip in Tortall, lamenting at the extent of news had travelled, so much that a total stranger could recognise her for who she was.

She studied her shoes very carefully; wishing very much that the stranger would pick up the hint that she had no desire for conversation. However, if she had, the woman showed no inclination to cease talk.

"You will be a knight very soon, my daughter," she said. "Time is running short, and there are still many barriers for you to overcome."

Alanna kept her eyes on her shoes. "I'd rather not think about things that way," she said, bluntly. "When I reach the fence, I'll jump over it. Not before."

"But you must," the woman said, her tone rebuking. "You have much to accomplish in very little time. And nothing is certain. Nothing is ever certain. You could always fail."

Alanna looked up, and suddenly, she realised why the low, husky voice sounded so familiar. She recalled the Sweating Sickness that had stricken Corus, not so long ago. She remembered throwing vervain into the fire, and the voice, like the cry of bell bounds, that had spoken to her through the fire.

She stilled. "But that's not possible," she said, shaking her head insistently. "You cannot be…"

"Why not?" the Great Mother Goddess asked. "You must know by now that you are my Chosen. I would not visit you otherwise."

Alanna swallowed. "I didn't ask for this," she said.

The look in the Goddess's eyes was kind. "Our Chosen rarely do. You, in particular, ask for very little. But what assistance do you receive, my daughter? You have no mother to guide you, to ask for advice. The next few years will be important, in determining not only your future, but the future of many others."

The little black kitten mewled. Alanna suddenly realised he was at the other side of the fire, the traitor.

The Goddess picked him up. "She will be fine, small one," she said soothingly. "She is merely trying to overcome her fear."

Alanna's eyes snapped back to the Goddess's face. "I am not afraid," she said firmly. When the Goddess arched a brow, Alanna looked away. "Well, maybe I am, a little, but acknowledging it won't help me any, will it?"

The Mother's smile returned. "You generally learn your lessons well, my daughter, but you are disadvantaged by refusing to accept the truth."

Alanna was looking at her shoe once more. The pattern was ingrained in her mind.

"There are three fears you have not accept," the Mother said.

Alanna stiffened. She got up quickly, with a murmured excuse that she needed to fetch more wood for the fire. She returned a little time later, clutching an enormous bundle of sticks in her hands, but the Goddess was not deterred.

"The first," she continued, "is your fear for your Ordeal of Knighthood."

Alanna snapped a stick in half, and fed it to the fire. She said nothing.

It had been Midwinter not so long ago, but it would be years—if ever—until she could forget the look in Jonathan's eyes as he emerged from the chamber. They were almost blind, dark with some untold, fearsome knowledge. She remembered watching as the priests closed the doors, at the slit of darkness that lay inside. From thereafter, the Ordeal had become a very real thing to her. Four years did not seem like such a long time.

The Goddess nodded, as if she knew exactly what Alanna was thinking.

"It was as if something of him died in there." Alanna's voice was barely louder than a whisper. "And Gary, Raoul and Alex looked the same way. Jonathan… he…" She paused, trying to word her thoughts. It was painful. "He has nightmares sometimes," she continues. "He wakes up at night, screaming, but he can't tell me about the Ordeal, because he isn't allowed to. He isn't a weak person. They all weren't weak people… but if it affected him, wouldn't it be doubly worse for me?" She paused, and snapped another stick. The fire flared higher.

"I have nightmares sometimes, too," she confessed. "I know I can't scream, but I want to scream. I don't know what is inside there, but I know it is terrible." She sucked in a breath. "And I can't make a noise, because it would bring Jonathan over."

"Which would be disastrous, of course," the Goddess said. When Alanna reddened, she continued gently. "Would it be so terrible if he did come over, and offer you comfort?"

"I don't even want to begin to imagine," Alanna snapped. "The Court gossips would have a field day with that." She held her head high, her mouth stiff. "Our relationship isn't like that. Jon's decent, and I would never… he would never…"

"You fear love, my daughter," the Goddess murmured. "You fear Jonathan's love, the love of the Rogue, George Cooper. You even fear the love of Myles, who only wants to be your father. But what is it exactly that you are afraid of? Warmth? Trust? A man's touch?"

"I don't WANT a man's touch," Alanna almost yelled. Then immediately, she reddened even further. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to be disrespectful… it's just that… I…" She paused. She felt her hands touch her overheated cheeks. "I just want to be a warrior. I want to fight fights, win battles. Falling in love doesn't factor into anything. It isn't helpful. If anything, it's detrimental." She hastened to explain. "When you love someone… they expect you to give them love back. They want a part of you, to keep for themselves… and I just can't do that." She looked down. "Besides," she continued, in a more reasonable tone, "the conservatives will never accept it, especially if it's Jon. They'll say I'm using him, and it won't be good for either of us." She forced herself to look back into the direction of the Goddess. "So what is my third fear?" she asked awkwardly. "Might as well get this over with."

"Roger, Duke of Conte." The tone of the Goddess's voice had changed. There was now an almost perceptible threat in her voice.

Alanna's tongue responded before her mind did. "I'm NOT afraid of him," she declared. "I have no reason to be afraid of him… none at all… but I am." Memories flooded back. Roger's blue crystal flashing as he talked to the class about Persopolis. The funny ache in her head she had received, when he was testing her. Thom's letters, about how he was being watched.

And then, realisation hit. "I hate him," Alanna gasped. "I hate him!" It felt good to say it, after all that time. "There's something wrong about him. He's… evil."

The Mother nodded. "Very well," she said crisply. "And what will you do?"

"Stay alert," Alanna said, suddenly feeling tired. "Watch him all I can." She sighed. "George will help me. Thom will, too."

The Goddess smiled once more. "The first step to conquering your fears, my daughter, is to acknowledge them. Your fear for the Chamber of Ordeal will pass over time, as will your fear for love."

Alanna stiffened. "I won't change my mind," she said.

"Perhaps," the Goddess said, her voice amused. She extended her hand, and for a moment, Alanna thought she was trying to find something in the fire. When the hand emerged, unblemished, holding a red hot-coal, Alanna gasped. "Our time together draws to a close, my daughter." She proffered her hand. "Take this from my hand, my daughter."

Alanna eyed the coal dubiously. She seemed to be asking for a bit too much, even for a Goddess. However, she tentatively extended her own hand, and grasped the crystal. To her surprise, it was cold. Surprised, she almost dropped it.

She brought it up for closer examination. Inside its hard, crystal shell, the ember seemed as if it was still burning. There was a hole at the top, big enough for a small chain to pass through.

In her mortified curiosity, she had not realised that the Goddess had risen. It wasn't until the deity spoke, that Alanna looked up. "You will prevail, my daughter. The Chamber is only a room, albeit a magical one. When the time comes, you will enter it. Duke Roger is only a man, for all the sorcery he wields; he can be met and defeated. But you must learn to love, my daughter. The path you have been given is twisted and gnarled; love will ease it. Much depends on you, Alanna of Trebond. Failure is not an option."

Alanna's hand was tight around the ember. "I'll try not to," she said. Then, she remembered her manners. She jumped up. "And thank you."

The Goddess smiled one last time. "I cannot ask for more," she said. She looked down at the kitten, which now sat by Alanna's feet. "Guard her well, Small One."

As the kitten mewed, Alanna stared at it, hard. Was there more to her new pet than met the eye?

The Goddess stood. "Wear my token, be brave, and wary. Do not stray beyond your fire tonight, my daughter. Dangers lie near. I was not jesting when I said there are strange tales about this tree."

As Alanna kissed the immortal's hand, she felt an odd energy zap through her. Even when she shook herself, the feeling did not fade. "Fare well, my Mother."

"Fare well, my Daughter." The Goddess walked to Moonlight, and caressed and spoke to it for a moment, before stepping away. She raised her hand a final time to Alanna. But the next time Alanna blinked, she was gone.

Suddenly, Alanna felt very tired indeed. As she banked the fire, and cleared the grounds, she could barely keep her eyes open. Contemplation would have to wait until the next morning…

She unrolled her bedroll and wriggled in. "D'you snore?" she asked the kitten sleepily.

It replied it wouldn't, if she didn't.

By the time Alanna finished nodding, she was already fast asleep.

* * *

Alanna arrived back to the palace by noon the next day, after a contemplative journey back home. She threw herself back into her routine with vengeance.

That night, when she was feeding her new kitten dinner, she heard the murmur of voices in Jon's room, just before a knock on the door.

"Alanna, are you decent there?" Jon asked.

"I'm always decent," she called back. "Come in."

Opening the connecting door, Jon entered with Gary and Raoul.

Gary spoke. "We were thinking of going down to the Dancing Dove. We were wondering if you would like to…" His voice died away as he saw the cat. "Great Mithros! It's a cat! What are you doing with that fleabag?"

Alanna rose to her new pet's defence at once. "It isn't a fleabag. It is nice and clean," she said archly, stroking its back.

"I know a sorcerer's familiar when I see one," Jon said, amused, bending down to pet the kitten. "Do sorcerer's familiars have fleas?" His laughter stopped when he saw the kitten's purple eyes. "Goddess," he breathed, as his own sapphire-blue eyes widened. "Where did you find him? Is it a him?"

Alanna nodded.

Raoul and Gary were staring as well.

"What is his name?" Raoul whispered, his tone almost reverent.

"Well," Alanna said petulantly. "I haven't decided." Before the others could chip in with their suggestions, she hastily said, "But I do fancy 'Faithful'." She disengaged the kitten from Jon, and set it on her left shoulder. It was a spot they both liked.

Jon grinned. With a mock show of ceremony, he unsheathed his dagger. As if knighting a cat, he touched it gently on both shoulders. "I dub thee 'Faithful'," he said austerely. "Serve honourably and well."

Faithful, true to his name, followed Alanna everywhere. He had staked a spot in every single area. In the practice yards, it was the tiny patch of greenery on the left hand side, right on the sidelines. It was harder to sneak into the classes, but eventually, Faithful became a classroom regular.

Myles had no qualms with letting Faithful sit in his classes, claiming cats had every right for education. The Mithran priests, however, were harder to convince. It was eventually Faithful himself, not Alanna, that won them over. Often, during long, boring lectures, he would be seated at the front desk, being absently patted by the lecturer himself.

However, one class that Alanna forbade Faithful to attend was Duke Roger's class. She had no want for the Duke to find out about Faithful's abnormalities. During these periods, Faithful would be taken care of by other people. However, Alanna was only ever the one whom he allowed to carry him around on the shoulder.

But Faithful's meeting with Duke Roger was inevitable. It occurred one rainy May day, during one of the rare periods of true 'free time'. In the spirit of true laziness, Alex, Gary, Faithful and Alanna lounged around, watching Raoul and Jon play backgammon.

Then, Duke Roger came in.

"Alex," he said without preamble. "An important package has arrived for me in Port Caynn. I hate to ask a favour, but I cannot go myself, and you are the only I trust to retrieve it…"

Before he even finished, Alex was already standing and giving his acquiescence. "It would be my pleasure…"

He was interrupted by a painful yelp, from Alanna. "You blasted cat! Let go of me!" Faithful had pounced onto her shoulder, his claws bare. He was growling, his fur was bristling and his back was arched.

"Stop it," Alanna muttered to him desperately, through gritted teeth. Duke Roger was watching.

"This must be your new pet," he said, coming forward.

"Yes," Alanna said, wincing as she disengaged Faithful from her shoulder. "He's normally not like this," she said, trying her best to avert Faithful's head, so that Roger wouldn't glimpse the eyes.

However, it was futile. "Unusual eyes," he commented. "I've just come from the kennels, Alanna," he said. "Perhaps your pet can smell dogs on me. Then again, I have never liked… cats."

The pause gave Alanna a chill. She knew it was too late to do anything. Roger had probably already made a fairly accurate guess as to Faithful's origins.

"Must be the dogs, sir," she said airily. "Dogs and Faithful never got along," she said.

It was a blatant lie. They both knew it, but mutually accepted it.

The sorcerer nodded to Alex. They left together.

The moment they left, Alanna picked Faithful up and delivered a scalding lecture on Etiquette (much to the other's amusement). By the time she finished her long-winded, exaggerated speech, the others were laughing, Faithful was purring, and all was forgotten—she hoped.

However, that very night, a messenger departed the Dancing Dove, with a very important message to Master Thom, concerning a certain smiling gentlemen, and a purple-eyed cat.

* * *

_A/N: I know this sounds very familiar, but it was unavoidable. I did reword everything (almost everything. The Duke Roger scene was very hard to write, and I stole snippets. About 95 percent of this is rephrased.) I'll try to avoid this in the future, but it does tie-in with the plot. _

_Thank you to the reviewers: Chopstix, HuntressDiana, Reaya, Forget-me-not, Von, White-wolf, Tomato Beatles Fan._


	5. FIGHT

_DISCLAIMER: Tamora Pierce owns everything. I'm just a poor little amateur who doesn't have enough dedication to flesh out and work with her own characters._

* * *

**_LOVE IS BLIND_**

Chapter Four

Fight

* * *

Before Alanna realised what had hit her, it was midsummer. The heat was sweltering, and bathing was extremely popular. To avoid any conflict or embarrassment, she kept indoors. Whenever the word 'Bathing' was mentioned, she would be gone by twenty seconds.

Meanwhile, tensions between Tortall and Tuisane were beginning to grow taut. As rumours about Tuisane intentions of taking Drell Valley from Tortall amassed, the Tuisane King sent over his ambassadors, for diplomatic negotiation (by request of King Roald). Roald was desperate to avoid war. Unlike his temperamental father, King Jasson 'The Empire Builder', King Roald relished his title of 'The Peacekeeper'. It seemed as though everyone but Roald realised that the Tuisane ambassadors were seeking to take advantage of Tortall's weak stomach.

Inevitably, the delegation consisted of a variety of Tuisane personalities, the most avid being the young Tuisane knights, eager to prove their strength over their 'weak' cousins. Alanna's femininity was made much of.

There were endless dances, dinners, balls and outings. If there wasn't a hunt one day, there would be a ball; if there wasn't a ball, there would be dinner; if there wasn't dinner, there would be something equally as frustrating and pointless. For Alanna, it was sheer torture.

Being Jonathan's squire, Alanna was expected to attend every single event, if not as a server; it was as a spectator, or a supporter. She was in the thick of things: serving drinks, fanning presumptuous nobles, and acting a temporary ornament for Jonathan at dances, before he found himself yet another noble-blooded girl to flirt and bed.

As the days wore on, the Tuisane delegations became more presumptuous, thinking that the King was weak, when he was merely being quiet.

The one particular party, the beginning of the end, started off very much the same as the other parties. The courtiers were dressed in their finest; with the ladies in long, rustling gowns, cut in the latest style and the men in stiff, tight circulation-stopping breeches. The squires were posted around strategic spots, bearing pitchers of drink, eagerly keeping their eyes and ears alert for any useful information.

And it was the combination of testosterone and alcohol that fuelled Dain of Tuisane's folly.

It had start out as a 'friendly' debate, where the knights from both sides were comparing the strength of their arms, when suddenly, a Tuisane knight by the name of Dain burst out in a scornful remark.

"Fencing?" he scoffed. "I have seen what your country calls fencing, Prince Jonathan. In our country, we call that dancing. Our three-year-olds can fence better than your trained knights!"

Instantly, the noise level dropped. All the Tortallan men in the room (save Myles, who was just sipping his brandy, his expression mild) had their hands on the hilts of their swords, faces red with wounded pride and anger.

It was Gary who spoke up, his voice tense and strained with suppressed anger. "You are unpardonably rude in the country of your host," he said. "If only it was possible I could teach you a lesson."

Now, the room was silent. Then, Ambassador Mikal spoke, his voice oily. "I apologise for the offence young Dain has caused," he said, his voice ringing with insincerity. "But… I must agree with him. Your majesty, perhaps peace has dulled your, ah, fighting edge?"

By now, all the Tortallan men were swollen with anger. Raoul was clutching his brandy glass so hard; it was on the verge of bursting. Alanna quickly intervened, whispering in Douglass's ear, referring pointedly to Raoul. The young man instantly hurried to his knight master, whispering choice words in his ear. Raoul relaxed – slightly, and released his white-knuckled grip with a sigh.

"I disagree," Jonathan said loudly. "Why, even our women can handle a sword against a full knight, when taught by our fencing masters." He nodded to Duke Gareth.

Dain smirked. "Bring on your champion, your highness," he said, uproariously. "I could defeat him in my sleep, with one hand tied behind my back!" he added.

Jon matched the smirk with a calm smile of his own. "I said, women." He raised a brow, darting a look to Alanna. "Not champion."

Instantly, Alanna knew what Jon had in mind. It was a very good idea, if she could pull it off. Dain was so pumped with arrogance and self-assurance, defeating him would deliver an undeniable message to his countrymen; that Tortallans were not to be trifled with.

She walked up, bowing low to Jonathan. "Your Highness?" She murmured, deliberately pitching her voice to sound more feminine. Dain had snubbed her badly the day before. She was determined to win, and gain her pound of flesh.

"My personal squire, Alanna, would not mind a fencing match," Jon said coolly.

Dain stared at Alanna, mouth dropping open. "You want me to fence with a woman?" he said, his incredulity causing his voice to slip several octaves higher. "Surely, that is… unchivalrous."

"Are you afraid?" Jon said in a soft, concerned voice, smiling slightly just so to aggravate the foreign knight. "If so, I wouldn't blame you. I am told Alanna is excellent at swordplay."

"I'm not afraid," Dain snarled. "If the wench wants to fight, I will oblige her! I fear no woman, Prince Jonathan."

Jonathan turned to his parents, bowing. "Your Majesties, please excuse us, we have an… disagreement to settle at the courts."

Whilst the servants prepared the largest fencing court, Timon was sent to retrieve Alanna's fencing gear. Alex, Duke Gareth and Alanna stood to one side, discussing fencing tactics, while the monarchs, Ambassador Mikal and his Lady Aenne debated on the outcome of the 'disagreement'."

"This will be - interesting- entertainment, no doubt!" Lady Aenne said, laughing lightly.

"It certainly will," said King Roald, thoughtfully.

Mikal shook his head. "There is a reason why women are not warriors," he said. "And we are about to see the proof in action."

Myles was furious. He stormed into Alanna's conversation. "Are you crazy?" he demanded. "Why are you throwing everything away?"

Alex was hasty to reply. "Alanna is very good," he said at once. "We've trained together, she and I, under Duke Gareth's instruction. Female or not, it will be no easy match." He excused himself, and went to find Duke Roger.

There was something very strange going on. Alanna studied Alex as he went off. He seemed a little bit too eager about the upcoming duel. The very thought that he would wish her harm was laughable. After all, they had been good friends for quite some time.

An hour before the match was scheduled to begin, both Alanna and Dain had arrived to the fencing courts, and were sent to opposite ends. Whilst Dain joked with his comrades, and cast sly insulting glances (and undoubtedly, comments) towards Alanna's direction, Alanna began her limbering exercises, while accessing him in the back of her mind.

He was overconfident. It was in his stance, his words. If his attitude translated into the match, it would be advantageous to Alanna. He had also been drinking. With luck, both would affect the quality of his sword-skills.

In the stands, Mikal didn't even bother to lower his voice. "How brave this woman must be!" he said mockingly. "Truly, I fear for her. Dain is very good and he knows no boundaries when enraged." He paused, his eyes passing through the court with fevered excitement of one who was assured of victory. "This match will have a sorrowful outcome."

The hour came.

Alanna and Dain came together at the centre.

"Are you prepared?" The King's voice rang commandingly through the courts. The courtiers hushed in anticipation.

Both Alanna and Dain nodded, mouths set in a straight line. They faced the king, bowed, and then saluted him with their swords. Quickly, almost reluctantly, they bowed to each other then moved until they were a sword lengths distance apart.

"Cross your weapons," the King said, watching as the two obeyed. "Do honour to your laws and chivalry and to the customs of your land - Guard!"

They both darted forward. Dain instantly assumed the position of the aggressor. His sword met Alanna's with a loud clang. When she blocked as he expected, he began to bear down, attempting to force her sword to the floor. Alanna gritted her teeth, resisted and held. Her muscles were aching with protest, but ever alert, she caught the flash of annoyance flickering through Dain's eyes, as he read her full measure. He had realised that she would not be an easy opponent to beat.

He broke away, and circled her warily. "Prepare to die, wench!"

Alanna did not reply. Although it was customary to hurl insults at your opponents, Alanna found it to be a waste of energy—and breath. It was also a good tactic, as often, her opposition would become unnerved by her uncanny silence. Nervousness increased. Performance decreased.

She kept her eyes on his torso, watching for his next movement.

When Dain whipped his sword down and in, a quick movement, she responded by striking it away, and aiming her own blade straight to his heart, prepared to pull back if necessary. He had to step back. She retreated before she lost balance.

"An amateur move," Dain scoffed. He sounded less confident, now.

The King winked at Roger, smiling. The match was turning out to be quite enjoyable. The Ambassador was squirming slightly. "That 'child's trick' nearly worked," Roald said, enjoying Mikal's obvious discomfort.

Dain continued to attempt to distract her with insults, circling and quick blows. Alanna was forced to assume defensive. Whilst she fended off his blows, she looked for an opening. She didn't want bloodshed. She just wanted to knock the sword out of his hand, so the match would finally be over.

The minutes ticked past. Sweat was now trickling down Alanna's cheeks, and Dain's shirt and tunic were soaked. He was breathing heavily. He was tiring. Alanna allowed herself an inner smile. If only Dain had begun fencing with Coram's sword! He would not be near half as weary as he was now.

But her sweat was making her nervous. If by chance, it dripped into her eye and obscured her vision, or dripped onto the floor…

Meanwhile, Dain was blabbing every insult that he could think of, from Alanna's parents to Alanna's looks; beneath that, was the sound of padded feet and Dain's heavy breathing. The audience was captivated, silent.

In a desperate move, Alanna lunged forward frantically, forcing Dain to stumble back. While he recovered, she attempted to quickly swipe a clothed arm over her face. However, she was not fast enough.

Dain darted forward with a triumphant yell. Her reflexes were too slow. His blade sank deep into her right arm, below the elbow. Regretting her bad timing, Alanna lowered her sword, accepting defeat. Dain had won according to the rules. He had drawn first blood.

However, Ambassador Mikal's words proved to be true. For Dain, the battle had just begun. He lunged for her chest, eyes crazy. Alanna jumped aside, narrowly missing death by his sword.

"Foul!" Gary cried. He was not the only one.

Dain just ignored them, circling Alanna. Duke Gareth strode in, his sword shimmering, with all intentions of cutting the fight short, but Alanna shook her head. The knight had disobeyed the Code of Chivalry. For that, he would pay.

There was blood on the floor. As she transferred Lightning to her left hand, she took especial care not to slip on it. She stepped away, to face Dain.

This time, Alanna assumed the role of aggressor. She lunged forwards viciously, her sword meeting Dain's with a painful clang. Pulling away, she repeated the move again and again. With each clash, Dain's block became clumsier.

Her sword never stopped looking for an opening. And then, at last… she found one.

Bringing Lightening down, under and up, she sent Dain's sword went flying. Dain stumbled, trying to escape, but Alanna darted forward to press Lightning to his throat.

"Yield," she said to him, her eyes glowing with cold fire. "You should be glad I am not remotely like you, Sir Dain, or you would be dead."

Faced with no choice, Dain yielded.

She turned disdainfully, but her graceful exit was immediately countered, as she stumbled. Her right armed dangled uselessly. Jon was right behind her. He caught her, and held her steady as Duke Baird bound up her wound.

"You all right there?" he asked her.

She nodded mutely.

In the stands, Ambassador Mikal was thoroughly embarrassed. "All along, she was holding back, the girl was holding back!" He shook his head, torn between humiliation and admiration. "Are all your warriors so formidable, or is it just the women?"

King Roald attempted to fight back a smile, but finally succumbed. The turnabout was amusing. He looked to where Alanna and his son stood, bandaging the wounds. For a moment, he couldn't articulate his thoughts. "What we have there is a promise," he said finally. "A promise to a bright future, a future we want to preserve."

* * *

_A/N: I have taken quite a few chapters to get to the exciting stuff, but the next chapter has... dum dum dum... DELIA! _

_Thank you to: Forget-me-not, Reaya, HuntressDiana, froggy, Chopstix, Arcander, cow_


	6. DELIA

_Disclaimer: The characters, concepts, setting, etc are from Tamora Pierce._

* * *

**LOVE IS BLIND**

Chapter Five

Delia

* * *

After tethering Moonlight to a post outside the Dancing Dove, Alanna made her way into the tavern, greeting her boisterous Rogue friends, while Faithful acted as her little guard, making sure no one made a grab for her purse.

The air inside was smoky. The thieves were loud in their celebrations. The moment they saw her, the din worsened. A few men wolf-whistled at her, while others leered.

"You celebrating the Prince's birthday?" Alanna asked, with a grin. "Does his Highness of your loyalty?"

"Always," Marek responded jokingly. "Pops here all the time, doesn't he? Gropes the girls and drinks our wine…"

Alanna hid a smile. Marek had no idea about the truth in his words.

"Want a drink, 'Lanna?" Lightfingers asked, his voice slightly slurred. He proffered his mug towards her. Upon peering down at the contents (with no intention to accept, really) Alanna blanched.

"No thanks," she said hastily. "I've come to see George."

Somehow, the thieves found this statement uproariously funny.

"You n' that lad, Johnny! Sombre as anything!" 'Fingers said, winking at her knowingly. "All's same, you want to see George, eh?" He waggled his bushy brows.

Alanna scowled, knowing quite well what the thief was thinking. "Keep your opinions to yourself, 'Fingers, I'm on business," she said crisply, folding her arms. "Now, are you going to take me to George or not?"

George, however, was making his way down. "Harassin' Alanna again, 'Fingers?" he said, laughingly. "Tried sweet talkin' to her myself, many a time. Never worked. She's a hard woman to please. "

Alanna sent him a glare. He responded with a wink. "What are you here for, lass?" he asked.

But before Alanna could respond, 'Fingers had pushed his chair back, pushing a flower girl off his lap. He stood, swaying.

"I'm declarin' a toast," he said, taking a heavy swig of ale.

There came protests. "Again?" someone yelled.

"Mithros, how many toasts have you made?" Alanna demanded.

"Ten," 'Fingers said blearily. "This shall be th' eleventh." He stood and raised his tankard in the air. "To the damnable bastard!"

Cheers rose through the room. The sentiment echoed.

Alanna laughed. "I'll send your well wishes to him," she said solemnly, her eyes dancing.

"'Fingers drinks for whatever reason that comes to mind, if there's none, he drinks for sorrow," George said, "Now, what's this you're seeing me for, Lass?" he said again.

They made their way up the ladder to George's room. As soon as the door shut, the noise from below faded. Alanna immediately told him everything that had happened so far, until she finally stopped to take a breath.

George rummaged around his room, until he came up with several packages and a letter.

After scanning through the letter, Alanna sighed. "He's got some suspicions," she said flatly. She turned to the packages. "What's this?"

"From Trebond, to his Highness," George said, gesturing to the largest package. Unable to resist (after all, it was from her, as well) she snuck a peek at the contents.

It was army. "It's beautiful!" she exclaimed reverently, lifting out the armour. It was the lightest chain mail that she had ever handled. Amethysts studded the gold washed silver. There was no other word for it. It was beautiful. She practically could feel the magic reverberating through it.

After she wrapped it back up proper, George handed her another package. "From me, to Jon. Make sure you give it to him in private though, it won't do well if my identity as the giver comes out - and don't worry, I didn't steal it, lass."

She gave him a sceptical look.

He laughed. "You doubter," he said, shaking his head.

"You can hardly blame me," Alanna said self-righteously. "You're a thief. A suspicious character, with a shady career."

"I've been thinkin' lately," said George conversationally, looking directly at her, "After I retire from the Rogue, I might take a job. It would be somethin' respectable, a merchant, or jeweller…"

Alanna snorted. "Oh really? And what would happen to all your accumulations? And your collection of ears?"

His eyes never left hers. "After I settle down, maybe, I'll get m'self a wife."

Sucking in a breath, she gave a sarcastic laugh, not quite liking where this conversation seemed to be headed. "A wife- you?"

"A woman, who knows how to fight and has education, and mayhap even has some breeding, with a bit of spirit and wit..."

Her mouth felt very dry now, she wanted more than anything for a change in topic. "Good luck, George," she said dryly. "I don't think that woman exists."

"I think I've already found her," George said lowly, his gaze intense.

She let out her breath. "You presume highly of yourself! I am of noble blood, in the book of Gold…"

"Don't try to fool yourself, Alanna," he said sharply. "You couldn't care less about bloodlines and books."

"I have no interest in love." She spat out the word, disgustedly.

"Aren't you even curious? It may do you good, lass."

There was silence, where Alanna just glared at him.

George looked away. When he spoke again, his voice was normal, and perhaps even a bit tired. "I'll best come down with you, lass. With all your baggage tonight, my people may be tempted to rebel when my back is turned."

She grimaced. "I can handle myself, George," she said, glad that he was talking sense again.

"All loaded up like that?" He shook his head. "You might break somethin'. At least let me accompany you to the city edge."

She scowled, but relented.

Faithful trotted behind them, his tail waving like a small banner.

True to his word, George led them to the edge of the city, before he said his farewells. Faithful, however, had disappeared.

"Where is that dratted cat?" Alanna said in annoyance.

George shrugged. "He can't be far behind. A cat with smarts like him can defend himself."

Faithful was getting close and personal with a fishmonger, who looked positively delighted to feed the cat, crooning compliments while the cat purred smugly.

"That cat!" Alanna hissed under her breath.

"At least you won't have to feed him later," George said wryly, handing back her parcels.

She managed them awkwardly, barely balancing them. Just as she managed to balance the packages, she caught George giving her 'the look' again.

"I'm takin' advantage of you now, Alanna, because I'll probably never catch you like this again," George said softly, standing so close that if she lifted a finger, she'd be able to touch his arm.

"George, you -"

He bent down and kissed her, brushing his lips lightly over hers. "Remember what I said about love," he said.

"Pigs might fly," she retorted, giving him a venomous look.

Just at that moment, Faithful trotted back, his fur reeking of fish, and a freshly caught mackerel between his jaws.

George waved, and then disappeared.

"You!" Alanna cried, frustrated. "Where were you when I needed you?"

You seemed to be enjoying yourself, anyhow, Faithful replied.

Unable to find a response, she stalked off. Everything—and everyone—was getting too silly for words.

* * *

Of all the things that happened on Prince Jonathan's eighteenth birthday, Alanna only remembered one extremely significant event, which was her first meeting with Delia of Eldorne.

As Jonathan's squire, she was relieved of her duties, but was expected to be present every single palatial celebration. Jon did all he could to make her stay, ranging from royal command, to an acidic glare, brute force, blackmail and guilt-trips.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked plaintively, as he handed her a glass of wine he had taken from a nearby server.

"No, I'm sure it is wonderful. For you." She smoothed the material of the gown she had been forced to wear with shaking fingers. "For me, this is a step up from torture. I'd rather study bows in Etiquette!"

He chuckled, and then sighed. "It isn't that terrible," he said chidingly.

She gave him a terrible look. "Why not you try putting on a gown and high heeled shoes?" she suggested sweetly. "I look ridiculous."

He peered at her. "You look wonderful," he said firmly. Then, an idea came to his mind. "In fact… would you like a dance?" He gave her an over-exaggerated, courtly bow.

She considered flinging her glass of wine into his face, but decided against it. It was his birthday, and for that, she would be lenient, for once. "You have to be joking," she hissed. "Isn't it bad enough that I'm dressed like this? Now you expect me to dance?" When he looked at her blandly, she choked. "I can't dance!"

"Nonsense," he said. "Of course you can!"

She glared at him. "I—" she began.

"Make that a royal command," he said airily. He extended a hand, which she grudgingly took.

"You abuse your royal privileges too much," she muttered.

She was all too aware when his hand slid down to her waist. The music slowed down to a melancholy, romantic pace. Jon steered her out onto the ballroom floor.

Her face felt like it was burning. She could feel hundreds of eyes stabbing into her. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Mithros! She was meant to be Jonathan's squire, not a publicity puppet! "I told you I couldn't dance," she said, when she unintentionally stepped on his foot.

"You did that deliberately."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not!" She took a breath. "I never learnt the female steps for the waltz."

"It's the…"

"It is not the same," she said. "It is different. It is feminine. You're not meant to dance with men."

"You're not male," he said pointedly.

She refused to reply.

"You aren't," he said. "You're a girl, and you're a very pretty girl."

"Liar."

He was hasty to reassure her. "You are beautiful, in your own way," he said earnestly. "It is a bit like… like…"

She had a feeling he would never come up with a comparable analogy. "We're meant to dance," she said. "Not talk."

He laughed. "We're meant to dance AND talk."

"If you try dance with me again…" She narrowed her eyes. "I'll make a drunk look graceful."

"You charmer," he said.

"I'm honest," she said.

He studied her, which was unnerving at such close proximity. "Do you know what you need? You need romance," he said, unknowingly reminding her of the earlier conversation, with George.

She practically gagged. "I certainly do not!"

The expression in his eyes was unreadable, but his lips curved in a smile. "The lady doth protest too much," he murmured.

Alanna scowled. She had no interest in romance, and she couldn't understand why everyone was so convinced it was redemptive. All she wanted was her shield.

She was suddenly aware that the music had faded, and they were sitting down again, in the farthest corner of the ballroom.

"How was that?" Jon asked. He laughed when Alanna made a disgusted face, and responded predictably.

Before they could continue their conversation, Gary stumbled over. He was grinning so widely that he seemed almost drunk. "There's a new arrival," he declared. "She's young, she is gorgeous, and I got to meet her first," he concluded smugly. "You are interested, aren't you, Jon?" He raised his brows suggestively, with an exaggerated leer at Alanna.

Alanna was all glares. "You've figured me out," she deadpanned. "I've been harbouring a secret lust for Jon for all these years."

Jon chuckled. "Of course I'm interested," he said, giving Alanna a hand up. "You sure she's gorgeous, Gary?"

"She's a goddess," he said reverently.

Adopting the proper escorting position, Jon led Alanna across the floor, following Gary.

Before they even reached the centre of the commotion, Alanna saw the large, male crowd.

"Well," Alanna said. "That answers your question, doesn't it, Jon?"

Using his sheer sense of presence, Jon parted the crowd. At the very centre of the huddle, was a brown-haired girl with a green dress.

Of course, this was only what Alanna saw. Undoubtedly, her friends were seeing something very different.

She stood immediately at the sight of the Prince and curtseyed gracefully. "Your Highness," she said in a soft, husky voice. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Gary hastened to make the introductions. "Delia of Eldorne, this is his Highness, Prince Jonathan, and his squire, Alanna of Trebond."

Almost as if Alanna didn't exist, Jon and Delia drifted together. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were inviting. She extended one slim hand, which Jon promptly kissed. "Welcome to Court, lady Delia," he said, his voice lowly seductive. "It is rare for such a beauty to grace our eyes."

Alanna forced a smile, curtsied and turned to go. "I think it is time to feed Faithful," she muttered, in case anyone was paying attention.

However, Delia jumped up immediately. "Oh! Alanna!" She picked her skirts up, and glided over to Alanna. "I have heard so much about you! You defeated that terrible Tuisane knight, didn't you? It is wonderful to meet a woman of such… strength, and valour!"

"How delightful to hear so," Alanna said, forcing a smile. "It was just a duel, really. Nothing exciting."

"And I hear you have the most adorable cat!" Delia continued. "We absolutely must catch up some time, girl to girl!" She looked around her prettily. "You're surrounded by all these big, strong men. You lack feminine ties, Alanna! Visit me someday! We will have a nice, long chat! My friends and I are all very interested in learning self-defence!"

"I'm certain these big strong men would be all too happy to teach you self defence," Alanna said pointedly. She was beginning to get a headache. She tried to edge away, again.

This time, it was Jonathan who spoke. "I agree with you, Lady Delia," he said. His attention was entirely fixated on her. "Alanna does lack friends of her own gender, and it incapacitates her greatly. It is very generous of you to make an offer."

Thousands of retorts were at the very tip of her tongue, but Alanna held her silence. Fuelled by visions of nasty revenge, Alanna gritted her teeth in a smile, before fleeing the scene.

Delia, as it turned out, was one big fake.

All her 'chats' were dominated by enquiries about Jonathan. What did he like? What did he dislike? She couldn't resist adding in a comment that maybe, just maybe, was his relationship with Alanna entirely platonic?

"Do be truthful," she said. "I would understand completely if you confess…"

"I have nothing to confess," Alanna said, quite honestly, as she eyed the door and planned escape.

Whenever the topic of the their 'chats' were brought up near Alanna's friends, Delia would make up stories of what Alanna had told her. That, or she would take one miniscule detail and exaggerate it greatly.

She managed to blow up events so that Alanna saying 'Gary is good a fencing' was translated to 'Gary is good', in the strictly non-platonic sense.

It had taken weeks to patch up the misunderstanding.

The worse thing was that Delia's presence was unavoidable, and frequent. Alanna was so awkward whenever Delia's name was brought up, that her friends began to assume bizarre things.

It was Gary who had the courage to bring it up. "Alanna, you don't happen to… you don't really… you don't like girls, do you?"

Alanna, who was drinking tea, looked up blankly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean - you know. You don't prefer girls."

She spat her mouthful of tea all over the carpet, coughing. "Gods, no!" she spluttered. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You don't seem to fancy anyone, and Delia often…"

"Delia's a bitch!" Alanna said harshly, the word coming out before she even realised. She instantly clamped her mouth shut, knowing that it hadn't been quite the best thing to say.

Her friends were - one word - SMITTEN.

Jonathan often wrote poetry for Delia, and spent hours reciting his (horrendous) creations to Alanna, pleading for her an honest opinion (which she could never give. His poetry was terrible).

Gary and Raoul had fought over her riding glove, which eventuated in a duel. Duke Gareth had to send them to opposite border patrols, to cool off. The best thing that resulted out of that fiasco was that Sacherall and Douglass were taken with their knight-masters as well. Both were equally, if not more, smitten by the brunette.

Gary instantly leapt to Delia's defence. "I'm sorry if you were offended, Alanna," he said brusquely, "but I feel as though you don't know Delia at all. There is a lot more to her than you think there is."

Alanna, mopping up the mess, gave a wane smile. "Oh, I'll bet," she said.

* * *

_A/N: This hasty editing job was all done in one day. So now, it is three a.m in the morning. It is lucky I have holidays now, no? _

_Things have changed. I hope you like this. With luck, an update should occur... soon... :) _

_Updating it was a bitch, so I hope people who had been following this (do any of you still come here anymore, anyway?) will understand why I couldn't provide new content, just yet. Every. single. chapter has been rewriten. _

_Thank you to: Tomato Beatles Fan, HuntressDiana, Dysphoria, Arcander and Chopstix._


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